And if you're in the Chicago TV viewing area, check out NBC5 after 9:00 a.m. on Saturday, August 2nd. I'm scheduled to be interviewed about the 3-Day, and many of The Chest Nuts will be joining me!

Almost exactly one week later, my father called me one evening to tell me that a friend of his and my mom’s was diagnosed with breast cancer after an abnormal mammogram. Marilyn is exactly one week behind Rosemary in treatment so far. Talking to Marilyn about her diagnosis and treatment plan made me feel the same way I did in talking to Rosemary…it brought back some of the emotions that I experienced so clearly and I wished that I could somehow make it better for her.

When I was going through surgery and radiation and chemotherapy last year every single thing that happened seemed so dramatic and I thought that I would remember every detail forever. What I realized as I spoke with Rosemary and Marilyn was that some details have already become foggy. I can’t remember exact dates anymore, and in some instances I can’t remember what happened first and what happened second. I have looked back at my blog several times to refresh my memory, and I realize how thankful I am that I wrote everything down. This blog has become an important record for me.

And then two weeks ago my dad called me again to tell me that the other shoe had dropped for my cousin Jenny. I’ve written about Jenny before. She was diagnosed with breast cancer a few years ago and had been cancer free for almost four years. Jenny is only 35 years old and has two little girls, the oldest of whom is only a few months younger than Matthew. Jenny had breast cancer in her right breast and went through surgery, chemo, radiation, and then more surgery when she had a mastectomy followed by reconstructive surgery. And then she found another lump in her left breast. The good news, if there is any, is that this is not a recurrence of the same cancer, but a brand new primary tumor. That is “good news” because it means it is not a metastasis of the original cancer.

Last Tuesday she had another mastectomy on the left side, and will be starting chemo again in July. She found out this week that the cancer had not spread beyond the sentinel lymph node, which is also really good news. Jenny and I talked extensively before her surgery about everything that she is going through. Both of us expressed our dismay at the fact that it came back. (I know I just finished saying that it didn’t really come back, but that’s what it feels like nonetheless.) If you do everything they tell you to do and you work really hard at surviving, it’s not supposed to come back.

When my dad first told me about Jenny, I felt my stomach drop and the ground shift a little bit under my feet. When you have had cancer, you see, this is your very worst fear. Most cancer survivors don’t mention this part of it when you talk to them because it’s all about how well they are doing now. But it is always there. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about this possibility. The idea of cancer returning again colors every single thing that I do. When I watch one of my kids swimming in a swim team event or running down the field in soccer or football, when I celebrate their good grades or when I sit down to eat dinner with them or celebrate one of their birthdays, I also celebrate their lives and my life and the fact that I get to do those things with them. Even something as simple as grocery shopping or writing a paper for school or meeting a friend for drinks or taking a trip with Randy or going to work is a cause for celebration for me. I constantly note how happy I am to get to take advantage of these moments in life. And I think about how I need to live fully…in case the cancer comes back. It’s not that I live in constant fear so much as the fact that I try to take advantage of and fully appreciate each moment as it comes.

Hearing that Jenny found another lump meant that it could happen to me. She went through the same treatment that I did, and then some. She did everything the doctors told her to do. It’s simply not fair that she has to go through it all again. If you do what they tell you to do, it’s not supposed to come back. In talking to Jenny about all that is ahead of her, I realize how difficult it would be to face cancer treatments for a second time. On the one hand, you know what to expect so you are not facing the unknown. But on the other hand, you know what to expect and it is terrifying.

As I have struggled with my worries about Jenny, I have repeated my new philosophy of life to myself and to Randy and to anyone else who will listen. Drink the wine, I keep saying. Wear the clothes. Use the china. Don’t save them for a special occasion or for the “right” moment, because you might never get the chance. It would be a shame if I found another lump tomorrow because I purchased four bottles of really good wine two months ago and I haven’t opened even one bottle yet. What if I cross the street tomorrow and get hit by a bus and I never get a chance to wear those new shoes sitting in my closet? And isn’t it a shame that the lovely china I received as wedding gifts sits in my dining room hutch and only gets used for Thanksgiving and Christmas?

Jenny has a website here where she is writing about her journey this time around. I’d like to end this post with a personal message for Jenny:

Jenny, I am thinking about you and rooting for you, and so are every one of your family members here in Illinois. You fought this thing once and survived and thrived, and there is no doubt in my mind that you will harness all that Crum stubbornness and tenacity and do it again. Know that we are all cheering for you and that we stand ready to do whatever we can to help! We love you!

In the last few weeks I’ve finished up the spring semester, taken a summer session class, and started work (which I wish I could write about because it is fascinating!). During that time I have also continued to train for the 3-Day in August and I ran my first 10K in May. Yes, that’s right; I ran 6.2 miles(!). Six months ago I would never have thought I would do something like that in a million years. Of course, “run” might be stretching it just a little bit, because I didn’t actually run the entire 6.2 miles. I walked 3 or 4 times for about a minute each time, but I crossed the finish line nonetheless. And it felt great! I had a my six month check up with my oncologist a couple of weeks ago and things still look “perfect” (his word). As far as I’m concerned, that’s a good assessment. Next week I will be seeing my radiation oncologist for what I think might be a one year post-radiation appointment. It’s difficult to believe that it has been that long since I went through radiation, but I think it has.

I still have a few lingering side-effects from my cancer journey last year and some of them may never go away. For example, I still have some numbness and nerve damage on my left side under my arm and along my back shoulder. I notice a significant difference in strength on the left side when I try to lift something over my head or out to the side…basically anything I need to use my shoulder muscles to do. I still have my port, which isn’t really a side-effect so much as something that is just kind of constantly there. I don’t think other people really notice it, but I see the line running into my neck and along my chest every single time I look in the mirror. My hair is still short and has remained really curly. It’s kind of amazing to me and I’m still getting used to having brand new hair. I spent my entire life learning how to wash, style, and live with my straight blonde hair and now I have to relearn everything I ever knew about my hair. But I’ll take it…short curly hair is way better than no hair any day!

One of the side-effects that I’ve written about before is the early onset of menopause. I knew that some women revert back to their regular cycles several months after chemotherapy, but when I got to six months I was beginning to wonder if I would be one of those women or if I would be one of those who were sent permanently into early menopause. I’m truly happy to report that I’m not and that I’ve gotten at least some reprieve. Hopefully it will be a good long time before I have to deal with hot flashes and hormone changes on a regular basis.

While I am celebrating my health and life every single morning these days, however, it seems that around each corner there are constant reminders of what we are all up against every day. I will write more about those reminders in a separate post.

I confess, however, that I am not doing them.

I hope that by admitting that here I will be forced to walk the walk, rather than just talk the talk. It can mean the difference between life and death, so why is it so hard for us to do it? For me, I think that it is fear as much as anything else. I don’t want to find another lump, because if I do there is a high probability that it will be more breast cancer. I think that subconsciously I hope that if I don’t know about it I won’t have to deal with it. It’s the ostrich approach, and it’s the wrong one.

I wasn’t so great about doing self-exams before I had breast cancer, for the same reason. I didn’t ever always think about it when it was convenient, and when I did remember to do it I always felt a little foolish. After all, how in the world was I supposed to know what to look for? And if I did find something, would I know what to do next? But mostly,I was afraid to find something.

But everything you read about breast cancer says that the early detection is the key, and I am living proof of that. I found the lump in my breast myself. Not because I did a breast self-exam (at the time that I found it, I hadn’t done one for 8 or 9 months), but because I was in the right position at the right moment and because my pajama top was bothering me. What if I had decided not to read that night? What if I hadn’t tried to adjust my top? Who knows when or if I would have discovered the lump. And maybe the next time I remembered to do a self-exam or to schedule a mammogram, my cancer—a very aggressive form of breast cancer—would have spread to another part of my body.

This thought scares me….does it scare you, too? I hope so. I hope it scares you enough to remember to do a self-exam tonight!

And for the record, when I did find something I suddenly knew what I was looking for and I knew what to do.

In order to help you and me remember to do this, I am going to steal a reminder from Mary at Almost Somewhat Positive. She has designated the 15th of each month as Frisk the 15th in order to remind women to do their self-exams. I will do my best to remind you to feel your boobies each month on the 15th by posting a reminder. Will you please remind me if I forget?

Keep in mind that you don’t have to have a lump to have breast cancer, either. If you notice any abnormal changes in your breasts, call your doctor. And make sure that you also schedule an annual mammogram.

If you need a little help remembering, why not order a free waterproof breast self-exam card for your shower from Susan G. Komen for the Cure (one per household)? You can also print the information out on paper here.

Today I have been cancer-free for one year.

Your Life
Your gonna be a lawyer mom
Your gonna be the big bomb
You've got the techniques
You'll beat all the geeks
You will fight and you will win mom.
          -Matthew Klein

The beginning of this month marked six months since my last chemo treatment. For a long time, I found myself telling people, when it came up in conversation, that I had finished chemo on November 1st. Now, when it comes up, I tell people that my last treatment was six months ago. It is a subtle but interesting mental shift…kind of like when you move from telling people your child’s age in months to her age in years. In just a few days, I will be able be able to tell people that I have been cancer-free for one year. (I am counting from the day I had the lumpectomy since that is the day that it was actually removed.) In some ways it feels as if it has been years and years since I had cancer, and at the same time it seems all too recent.

I will be celebrating Mother’s Day this year by running in this race with my family and some friends of ours. I hope to make it our new family Mother’s Day tradition.

Playlist 2
4 Minutes—JT and Madonna
The Devil in Me—Kate Voegele
The Middle—Jimmy Eat World
Cupid Shuffle—Cupid
Mercy—Duffy
Me Enorama—Juanes
Dance and Shout—Shaggy & Pee Wee (Thanks CGF!)
Hips Don’t Lie—Shakira
Girlfriend—Avril Lavigne
Spice Up Your Life—Spice Girls
Do It Well—Jennifer Lopez
Flathead—The Fratellis
See You Again—Miley Cyrus
I Want You To Want Me—Cheap Trick
The Call—Backstreet Boys
Lovestoned—JT

I had one of those moments last week. I was getting ready to leave the house to go to school one morning and I decided to wear a bright fuchsia trench coat since it was such a beautiful day. I didn’t want to wear one of my dark scarves with the coat and I remembered that I had a scarf with all kinds of bright colors on it that I had worn on my head last summer. I ran upstairs, dug through the scarves hanging in the back of my closet, and pulled out the brightly colored one. As I began to unfold it to look at it, I was struck by my physical reaction to the colors, the pattern, and the feel of the scarf. Holding it made me feel almost nauseous, and I experienced a strong physical aversion to the scarf. I tried to tell myself that I was being silly, but I couldn’t overcome the feeling; I could hardly look at it. I knew there was no possible way I was going to be able to wear it, so I hung it back up and decided not to wear a scarf at all. It was a strange feeling because I have never had such a strong reaction to an article of clothing. (Other than when I find a pair of shoes that I must have, of course, but that’s a much more positive feeling!)

I have held on to my scarves and hats out of some kind of superstitious fear of a cancer recurrence, but I think that I am going to donate them somewhere because I need to get them out of my house. I am sure that I will never, ever wear them again unless I have to go through chemo again, and I can’t wait around for that to happen!

Today—368 days later—I ran in that same 5K. While I didn’t set any records for the fastest time, I ran the whole thing. (Except for the moment when I had to stop to tie my shoe!) Today during breakfast, instead of thinking about my mortality and instead of feeling frightened about the ramifications of finding a lump in my breast, I thought about how lucky I am to be able to run and about how lucky I am to get to spend that kind of time with my family.

My world is a very different place than it was 368 days ago. In some ways, it is a darker and more difficult place. After all, the fear of a recurrence or metastasis is always lurking in the corner (and sometimes in the front) of my mind. In many ways, it is a better place. I am probably healthier right this minute than I have ever been before in my life. And I appreciate each day and each person in my life in more ways than I did a year ago. I can’t go so far as to say that having breast cancer was a good thing, but I’m still here, so it wasn’t the worst thing.

My brother and my kids all ran in the race this year, too. Despite the snow on the rooftops this morning and the balmy 32 degree temps (Hello, Chicago in April!), it was an exhilarating morning for all of us.

Next stop—the Y-Me Race to Empower on Mother’s Day!

Yes, it's curly! No, there is no gray! (Thank God for small favors!)

We live in the same town that Randy and I lived in while we were growing up. I never thought I’d end up living here, but it turns out to be a great place to raise kids, so here we are.

This used to be a relatively small rural community. When my family moved here in the late 70s the population was about 5,000. To get to our high school you had to traverse several country roads and then drive down a driveway surrounded by cornfields and cow pastures. This area is one of the fastest growing in the state, however, and now the population is around 30,000 and the high school is surrounded by hotels, malls, homes, and fast food restaurants. It doesn’t look much like it looked in 1979.

We moved back here right after Karly was born and just as area growth was starting to explode. One of the first commercial buildings to be built across the street from the high school was a Jewel grocery store. (For those of you who are not from Chicago, Jewel is a large grocery chain owned by the same company as Albertsons.) I remember very well when the store opened because it was just a couple of blocks from our house. If we lived in the city it would have been within walking distance. The store opened right around the time that Blake was born, about 14 years ago or so. I started shopping there when it opened and I shopped there almost exclusively for years despite the addition of a Dominicks, a Cub Foods, a Super Target, Super Wal-Mart and a Meijer in the same vicinity. We have since moved to a different house, but the Jewel is still pretty close. I haven’t frequented the store as much in the last couple of years because a new grocery store opened up in the area that has much better prices. However, I still stop in a couple of times a week to pick up fresh meat or produce or other last minute meal ingredients.

I made one of those last minute stops one day last week to pick up ingredients for dinner, including some fresh shrimp. I stopped at the butcher counter and placed my order and the woman behind the counter told me that she thought my hair was really cute. I have been getting lots of compliments on my short style recently, and I always laugh to myself at the fact that people think this is a choice that I have made. This time was no exception.

As I was standing there thinking about how shocked she would probably be if she knew why my hair was this short, she suddenly asked me, very pointedly, how I was feeling. I looked at her closely, and realized that she recognized me and that she knew exactly why my hair is this short. What is amazing about that is that I don’t know this woman except as an employee of Jewel who works behind the butcher counter. I don’t know her name or where she lives, and we have never met each other outside of the grocery store. I recognize her from the meat department, but I’m not sure if we have ever even spoken to one another before. I told her that I was feeling great and that I was surprised that she knew who I was. She assured me that she recognized me and that her heart had gone out to me when she saw me shopping in the store last year. (I knew that she was referring to my parade of scarves and hats.)

I was astounded that she recognized me and remembered me, and I told her again that I couldn’t believe that she knew who I was and then I found myself getting a little teary about it and I told her so. She told me that of course she knew me, and that she also knew that I had been shopping in the store since they opened. She said that she remembered when I used to come in with my babies who were probably not babies any more.

We talked for a few more seconds until my shrimp was wrapped and ready to go and then I continued shopping for the other items on my list. I found myself feeling a little emotional about the encounter for awhile afterward, though. I was so humbled last year by the outpouring of support that I received from my family and friends and classmates and teachers and doctors and nurses and strangers and from my blog readers and their families and friends—I am still humbled by it. I have said before that it was often the thing that got me through the hardest parts. Discovering that even a grocery store employee was watching me go through the experience and was rooting for me was surprising and touching and meant so much to me.

Cancer is awful in so many ways. It is hard and frightening and life-changing. It brings things into your life that you hope that you never have to experience. But it is a strange thing because it also brings amazing things into your life. I have frequently told people that sometimes having cancer made me feel like I got to observe my own funeral. People told me things about how they felt about me and my family that they might never have told me if I wasn’t dealing with breast cancer. I got to hear the kinds of things that they might say about me if they came to my funeral and I got to acknowledge, through their own words, the ways in which my life and the lives of other people have touched one another. I wish that everyone could experience this kind of affirmation, because it is powerful. As I have started to work my way out of the darkness of a cancer diagnosis and treatment, I find myself trying every day to tell people how I feel about them. I hope that I can always remember to stop and reflect on the ways in which people touch me and to tell them about it.

If I could give only one piece of advice to a friend or family member of a cancer fighter, it would be to tell them how you feel. Tell them what they mean to you and how much you care about them. Your love and friendship is powerful, incredible, healing stuff.